


Fearsome Trash Panda

by susiephalange



Series: In A Galaxy Not Quite Far, Far Away [1]
Category: Guardians of the Galaxy (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angst, Fluff, Gen, Gender-Neutral Pronouns, gender neutral reader
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-09
Updated: 2017-05-09
Packaged: 2018-10-29 19:36:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,867
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10860660
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/susiephalange/pseuds/susiephalange
Summary: Three times you and Rocket Racoon get on each other's nerves.





	Fearsome Trash Panda

**Author's Note:**

> This was a request from my Wattpad.

There’s a fine line between banter and assholery. What a fantastic word, _assholery_. Sounds like a fantastic to use in public – wait, no. A great word to shout at your close friend after they’ve done something that makes them deserve the Asshole of The Year award. In fact, that’s what you were doing right then, before the assassin Gamora and Drax the Destroyer came and intercepted the fight between you and Rocket that, if they had been seconds away from, you might have hurt him. And he you.

“You never learn!” you kick and throw your arms around, even though Gamora has an iron grip around you, holding you back from tearing the fur from Rocket’s body. “You’re the King of Assholery!”

He barks a laugh. “Like you’re the one to talk.”

Drax gives a low growl, and tightens his hand around Rocket’s midsection. “Enough, fearsome trash panda. The both of you are in the wrong here.”

Let’s back up here. If this was in one of those old movies you’d binge on after a trip to the intergalactic junk yards (alien abductions on Earth are real, and often enough they don’t take people, but really shitty VCRs and crap), there would be a record scratch, and a freeze frame right here. Okay. Now I have your attention, little person who’s reading these words, who probably should be studying but is reading (who am I to judge, I’m just a narrator), here’s the story. In the proper order. Because sometimes, even narrators can get it wrong.

Okay. So, it was just an ordinary day when you were waking up. Turns out that the heaters in Quill’s ship needed fixing, and well, long story short, halfway through the night, your buddy ol’ pal Rocket climbed into your bed to try and get warm. How were you to know he was there?

Strike One: (accidently) tugging on his tail.

Next, the ship needed to fix the problem, because all the Guardians of the Galaxy were warm blooded, and honestly loved to sit in front of the vents when there was nothing else better to do. Groot, especially. Quill took it upon himself to pull into a trading-based planet called Castillo for fuel and machinery parts. Gamora wanted to look out for a new whetstone for her sword (“If I don’t get it, my weapon will be as dull as Drax before his morning coffee”), and Rocket was in the mood to get out from everyone and just roam around. You just wanted to grab something to eat that hadn’t been on the ship for the last month and a half.

Thus, you went with Quill, and while he was bartering for prices with the help of Drax – a.k.a. the best guy to bring along for bartering, because nobody picked a fight against him and kept both arms – you were seeking a nice cup of soup for a nice price.

But halfway through your shopfront crawl, you saw a familiar face from the corner of your eye. For a moment, you swore it was just a trick of the light, but when you turned, you realised it was real. Because Rocket was running along the tops of the markets, and in his arms, had a satchel full of things that were clearly not his. What kind of raccoon would need fluffy socks? Blast. You’d just found a good place that sold soup for a reasonable price, but you were a Guardian, and you were also the good friend of the raccoon who knew better than him to thieve. So here you go, running alongside him, trying to be as inconspicuous as always.

“You come down here now, Rocket!” you whisper-shout over the hubbub of the market as he stopped to scratch his leg. At this, he notices you, and narrows his eyes. “Don’t you give me that look, dude – I can see what’s in your bag.”

“What’s in my bag, then?” He tests you. Stars. It’s like he’s a three-year-old child who acts like they’re the best damn thing that came into the light of the sun.

Crossing your arms, you do all in your power to not shout at him. “I know you have enough credits on you to buy your own things, and if you bought what’s in the bag, you’d be walking on the ground down here!” You accuse.

He huffs. “That’s big talk from a big person.”

“I’m normal sized!” you retort, “You’re just little.” you grind your teeth, annoyed at the antics he was going to. “Don’t make me bring the others into this. Just return that stuff to who owns it, and I’m taking you back to the ship.”

Rocket shakes his head. “It’s my stuff. I got receipts, but I ain’t gonna show you ‘em.”

“Fine! But this is on your head. You remember what happened last time with the batteries.” You remind him, and stalk back to the ship.

Strike two: public display of tension.

Fast forward an hour later, and you’re reading in your bedroom on the ship. Quill was ever so nice to allow everyone a separate room on his spaceship – before it had been the availability for bunkbeds, and it was just your luck to get the one under Drax. He sure liked to let off hot air when he slept. After clearing out a couple of rooms, you now had a room to yourself, decorated with your favourite Terran celebrities on posters – you had a picture of Phoebe from _F.R.I.E.N.D.S_ with her smelly cat, and an old finger painting you did that looked a little like _Starry Night_ if you looked at it at a certain angle, closed one eye, and then the other one.

In your room, you check the bed before sitting, down, just to make sure you’re not going to make the mistake of sitting on Rocket again. Stars, that was embarrassing. The way he’d look at you, like you were some sort of radical raccoon-hater. You were impartial to racoons. Back on earth, your country didn’t even have them, and all it took was a crazy alien abduction and there you were, in outer space, meeting a _talking_ raccoon. Saturday cartoons had nothing on you.

But here you were, trying to read the book you picked up a couple of stops ago, but it turned out you’d just bought a manual for how to launch a rocket into outer space manual, published in 1989. It wasn’t like you’d need to know that. You just wanted to read something nice. Like a romance, or a fun buddy-buddy sort of feel-good book that made your insides feel like melted butter all over the place.

And for some reason, Rocket was in his room next door and was blasting something that you wouldn’t call music. What was it with alien music that just made you want to clench your fist and shake it in the air? It was an already terrible day, and you just couldn’t help yourself.

So, standing, you march to his room, and bash on his door.

“Turn that terrible music down, Rocket,” you yell. “Or I’ll turn it down for you!”

The door opens a crack, “Ooh, I’m shaking in my shoes, you’re so scary.” He mocks. “Make me.”

Stars! He was just asking for it! It was then you push the door open all the way, and all but stomp over him to the sound system, and pull the plugs from the mainframe. Mid-sentence, the song ends, and there’s a slight ringing in your ears from where the absence of the terrible noise, almost a white noise.

Strike three: the stereo.

Which, my dear little person who’s reading the story, brings us back to the fateful beginning to our darling little story. _Assholery._ Turns out that the both of you were great at that, and that’s what you two were bickering and bantering about before the pair of you held back by Gamora and Drax.

“You never learn!” you kick and throw your arms around, even though Gamora has an iron grip around you, holding you back from tearing the fur from Rocket’s body. “You’re the King of Assholery!”

He barks a laugh. “Like you’re the one to talk.”

Drax gives a low growl, and tightens his hand around Rocket’s midsection. “Enough, fearsome trash panda. The both of you are in the wrong here.”

You still in Gamora’s arms. “Both? I mean, yeah, I pulled on his tail by accident, but that music – it was terrible! It was an assault to everyone who could hear it!” you protest. “Gamora, back me on this.”

“Nope.” She shakes her head, and you feel something drop inside your chest. “Drax is right. And Rocket, you can play whatever music you like, but volume like that is out of the question.” She snaps at the raccoon.

Rocket makes a face. “You’re not my mom!”

Drax makes a noise. “She is not, but I am. I am your mom from now on.” He gives a grin to Gamora, and returns to scowl at Rocket. “Now, Rocket, this is no way to behave on a birthday.”

You pause. “Birthday? Whose birthday is it?”

A fine time like always, Quill arrives, holding a box with a slightly bent bow on the top. “It’s yours, asshole. Can’t believe you forgot. I had Rocket go out and grab a few things for me while I was in the store, but then of course, you two had to fight about it.” He turns to Rocket. “I returned the poor guy’s pacemaker, Rocket.” He gives him a look that suggests an oncoming lecture, but Peter relents. “Happy birthday, ________!”

Gamora lets her arms relax to her sides. “Happy birthday.”

You advance toward Peter, and taking the box in your hands, turn to Rocket, who is still firmly in Drax’s grip. “I – I’m sorry I did all that stupid stuff.” You look to the box, and back to Rocket. “Dude?”

He gives you a little smile. “I’m sorry too. But open the damn present! I busted my tail for it! And paid quite a pretty price to get them to wrap it all nice and crap.” He motions for Drax to let him go, and at once, he climbs up and sits on Drax’s head. “C’mon, I don’t have all day!”

You crack a smile, and open the box.

Inside, sits a book. The cover isn’t too creased, and as you get it out, there’s a decent number of pages in it to be a good read. The wording on the cover is in English, too! The book is called _Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s_ Stone. You turn to the Guardians of the Galaxy, and give a big grin. “How did I forget my birthday?” you ask, feeling tears welling up in your eyes. “Damn, you’ve made me cry. I’m supposed to be the navigator, not the emotional one! That’s Quill’s job.”

“Hey!” he protests.

You look to Rocket. “You got the book for me?” you ask.

He nods. “Yep. Looked like your kind of thing.”

Without looking away, you nod. “Yeah. My kind of thing.”

**Author's Note:**

> If you have any requests, find me on Tumblr at @susiephalange, or [@phalangewrites](https://phalangewrites.tumblr.com/request_conditions) ʕ·ᴥ·ʔ✿


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